I stopped.
The motion of time entangles my capacity to understand.
I am agitated.
It’s sadness that creaks from my windowsill.
I turned to stare from the inside.
The city landscape bares a pity play.
I cannot mourn.
My resistance is my own orthodoxy.
Hatred is selling like hotcakes.
That is what I know.
I am bent.
2011
Reblogged this on chester maynes.
nicely done and this line captures the imagination, ‘The city landscape bares a pity play..’
Many many thanks again for dropping by here 🙂
Wow – I met you on RoSy’s blog – but will certainly be a following your work from here-on-in. Fantastic.
Thank you so much! I look forward visiting your blog too! 🙂
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I hear the ghetto Chester?
ohhh…maybe it’s just you? 🙂
of course, I can only read YOUR words from my reference points in reality.
this is difficult to write, anyway. But your appreciation means so much to me. I don’t even know how to compensate your kind words here but THANK YOU VERY MUCH! 🙂